


Bridge over troubled water

by nightbloomingcereus



Series: Name That Author prompt fills [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lesley and Maud are the real OTP no I do not take criticism, Marriage, Recovery, cleaning up the river
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomingcereus/pseuds/nightbloomingcereus
Summary: He remembers delivering a crown at sunrise, beside the river.  A pen bursting, an ugly, tarry splat of black ink spreading over his clipboard like an oil spill.  And after that—nothing.  Just a great, looming, cold, all-encompassing absence.There are some things, some experiences, that the human mind cannot make sense of, and yet they leave their marks.  But time, and hard work, and purpose, and, above all, love, are powerful things.
Relationships: Lesley | International Express Man/Maud
Series: Name That Author prompt fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737703
Comments: 38
Kudos: 64
Collections: Name That Author Round Four





	Bridge over troubled water

**Author's Note:**

> This is the director's cut of my submission for Name That Author Round 4 on the go-events discord server. The prompt was "This brings back memories."
> 
> Thanks to theoldaquarian for running this round!
> 
> Title comes from Simon and Garfunkel, of course. :)

He remembers delivering a crown at sunrise, beside the river. A pen bursting, an ugly, tarry splat of black ink spreading over his clipboard like an oil spill. And after that—nothing. Just a great, looming, cold, all-encompassing _absence_.

Next thing he knows, the sun that was just rising is now setting, and he's in his truck heading for a village called Tadfield. The radio is talking about mass hallucinations, rains of fish, walls of fire, aliens and Atlanteans. Nobody mentions simply losing twelve hours; nobody mentions a hole so black and so empty that it has no beginning and no end.

There's a note on the dashboard, in his own hand, that he does not remember writing. _Maud, I love you._ He puts it in his pocket. It might, after all, be the only truth he's sure of in this world right now.

Afterward, he lies awake in bed, Maud's arm warm around his waist; he doesn't fear nightmares, but that he will sleep and not dream of anything.

*

Autumn. The black hole in his memories is still there, threatening to swallow everything; his other memories, the ones from before, feel distant, hazy, and glazed over with something dusty and impenetrable.

He goes for long, solitary walks in the woods. He always finds himself by the river, near the place where he'd delivered the crown. The river is filthy, clogged with detritus and layers upon layers of accumulated garbage. There is so much junk that it flows only sluggishly. The water gleams with an unnatural, oily sheen. The bank is cluttered with discarded food cartons and broken electronics and crumpled chunks of metal, and all of the greenery that should be there is sere and grey.

He finds himself growing angry. It doesn't have to be this way, he thinks. It _wasn't_ this way, not so very long ago.

Maud asks him, with concern, where he goes every morning, and is patient when he tells her he isn't ready to talk about it. Instead, she hands him a thermos full of hot, milky tea, kisses him on the cheek, and tells him to be sure to dress warmly.

With every piece of trash he picks up from the riverbank, he feels a little bit of the dust and gunk in his head chipping away.

*

Winter. He's still going to the river every day, rain or shine, early in the morning before his first deliveries, or for longer stretches of time on his day off. Some days are better than others.

He finally tells Maud what he's been doing, one early morning in bed. She listens solemnly, then gets up and begins to get dressed. Sturdy trousers, cable-knit sweater, woolen scarf, gloves, hat, winter coat, boots. There are two thermoses of tea on the kitchen table that morning instead of one.

Side by side, in silence, they gather plastic bags and cigarette butts on the riverbank, in the December fog that hangs, low and white and heavy, over the fouled water and the spindly trees.

*

Spring. Forget-me-nots emerge, tiny and startlingly blue, on the riverbank. The buzz of carrion flies is replaced by the buzz of bees. Ducks arrive, for the first time in many years, on their way north for the summer. They've removed enough debris that the water has started flowing vigorously again, dislodging yet more of the dross accumulated at the bottom, which washes up at the bend downriver after storms. They collect that, too, and more of the cobwebs in his head wash away. The good days, where he feels present and useful, multiply, and the bad ones, the drifting, hazy, fearful ones, grow scarcer and scarcer.

The days are growing longer, and there's enough light to go to the river after work most days. Maud joins him after her shift at the library, bringing along some of the village children. They make games of picking up rubbish, splashing in the river and laughing merrily, and there's cookies and lemonade when they're done.

*

Midsummer. The riverbank is verdant and studded with a colorful profusion of wildflowers, the water clear and sparkling. Light filters, dappled green and gold, through the lush trees overhead. Birdsong wafts through the air.

There's still a black hole. It'll never go away. He doesn't mind anymore; it's a reminder of what's important in his life, like the note that he still keeps in his wallet. But everything else is bell-clear and unmuddied.

"Well, now," he says, "this brings back memories." He looks down, to where they've joined their hands after renewing their wedding vows on this, their thirtieth anniversary.

"It sure does," says Maud, "and we'll keep right on making them."


End file.
